


and all of my love was wasted on you

by stayingputwouldbeablunder



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chimeras, Feels, I don't even know okay, M/M, McCall Pack, Warning: Kate Argent, as background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayingputwouldbeablunder/pseuds/stayingputwouldbeablunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn’t feel like an argument though, it never does. It feels like a prelude, a precursor, to what, Derek isn’t sure, but it must be something ineluctable. It feels like a thrum beneath his skin, one he hasn’t felt since he was sixteen.</p><p>It’s dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and all of my love was wasted on you

**Author's Note:**

> It seems to be a reoccurring theme that I have fic ideas while I’m at work. I blame Sir Sly for being fantastic and _Gold_ , their EP, for being absolutely brilliant.
> 
> It also seems to be a reoccurring theme that I can't keep to the word limits I set for myself. I get lost in what is originally meant to be insignificant background that evolves into plot I can't part with.
> 
> I'd like to blame [this](http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=31154018) photo for gracing my dashboard on tumblr a couple weeks back.
> 
> Unbeta'd, as always. (I should get a beta.)

The first time it happens, they’re all at the loft, their tiny pack. It’s just Derek, Stiles, Scott, Kira, and Lydia these days. Chris kept Allison in Beacon Hills long enough for her to recover from being stabbed in the stomach before packing their things, convincing Melissa it was best to take Isaac with them, and moving to France. They check in every few weeks but for the most part remain uninvolved with the supernatural things drawn in by the nemeton.

Scott has been in mourning.

Kira is pushing a bowl of artichoke dip into his hands when Derek realizes it, that he’s been staring at Stiles for a prolonged period of time. The kid is busy smacking low quality photos of every creature mentioned in the Argent’s bestiary that breathes fire onto the wall of windows. Next to him Scott is shaking his head. Lydia’s at the table, scribbling down notes as she translates the text on Derek’s laptop.

Somehow this has become his life.

Kira says something to him before hopping onto the table next to Lydia, picking pieces of broccoli apart before popping them in her mouth. She comments on the likelihood of them missing a _dragon_ with a grin, laughing when Lydia throws her hands up in the air.

“See! I told you idiots, it’s not a dragon. We would have seen a dragon. You and Derek would have smelled smoke,” the banshee directs at Scott. “Right, Derek?”

“Yeah.” Derek finally breaks his eyes away from Stiles, who is now pouting as Scott draws a sad excuse for an _x_ across the picture of the dragon. “It’s probably something small, since the ignition sights are low to the ground and sparse.”

“Whatever it is set the entire playground at the edge of the Preserve on fire. Dad got called out there at two in the morning yesterday,” Stiles says, turning back to his display. “What about a phoenix?”

“A newborn perhaps, otherwise the fires would have originated in the trees.” Lydia shakes her head and reaches for the bowl of broccoli Kira is decimating. “Give me another hour.”

“Please don't tell me it’s another kitsune,” Stiles mumbles as he sucks the drawstring of his hoodie into his mouth.

Kira throws one of Lydia’s pens at his head. “Rude.”

“Says the person who threw the pen.”

Stiles beams at Kira until she gives under his smile.

“Dude, what if it’s a chimera?” Scott announces, staring wide eyed at the menacing picture Stiles procured from the depths of the internet. “They would be low to the ground and likely to start fires if spooked.”

Derek sets the bowl of artichoke dip he’s been holding down next to Kira, leaning over to pull one of the books he keeps on the table open. Lydia makes a noise and starts typing frantically. Derek finds the passage of the book he’s looking for, the one that accounts for all the creatures his mother ever encountered and remembered to scribe down.

“Holy shit,” he says at the same moment Lydia says “Scott, you’re a _genius_.”

\- - -

The second time it happens the pack is spread out in the Preserve. It’s past midnight on a Tuesday and the kids have school in the morning but the chimera - they have proof now - has been wreaking havoc since a thunderstorm last night. If it wasn’t enough that the chimera has started several fires across the Preserve, including one in Derek’s former home bad enough to collapse the staircase, the creature appears to be a baby. A cub.

Scott is off somewhere with Lydia, Kira’s on her own, and Stiles is here with Derek, wielding a rope he soaked in a dilution of water and mountain ash in case he needs to summon a barrier. Deaton’s content to leave him to his own devices when it comes to using mountain ash and Stiles has yet to master the art of tossing the powder above his head and having it form a perfect circle on the way down. So rope it is.

“Are you sure you can’t smell it?” the kid asks incredulously, swinging the end of the rope as though he's readying a lasso.

“I told you, it still smells like rain. The entire forest does. Besides, the bestiary says chimeras develop their scents from being in proximity with their mothers. If this thing really was abandoned, it won’t have a scent.”

Derek rolls his eyes as Stiles mocks him silently. He misses a log and trips, scrambling up as though that will prevent Derek from seeing. Derek bends down and hands him his discarded flashlight before continuing on.

“Do you think, if it wounds you, it will take longer to heal?”

Derek stops walking, head turning towards the left. “Follow me. And I don’t know, I don’t plan on finding out. We’re catching this thing and giving it to Deaton. He can figure out what to do with it.”

“It’s a baby, Derek. It’s lost and afraid.”

“And if we don’t do something about it it will burn down the entire Preserve.”

Something in a dense patch of bushes cracks and Derek throws an arm out to prevent Stiles from walking past. He turns, letting his eyes glow blue, and holds his hand up. Stiles makes a sound of protest at being told to stay but remains in place.

Derek approaches the bushes and just barely catches the glint of something’s eyeshine. He curls his upper lip to let his canines grow, growling low enough whatever is in the bushes will hear it but Stiles won’t. The bushes rustle and something growls back.

“Derek?”

“Make the circle.”

Derek can smell when the mountain ash is activated, nostrils flaring. Whatever is in the bushes can smell it too. A bundle of branches low to the ground glows and sizzles before the creature they’ve been looking for for weeks shows its face.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, pointing his flashlight at the chimera. It squints and begins to the retreat. “Shit, don’t do that little buddy, we’re not here to hurt you. Derek, put the fangs away.”

Stiles drops his flashlight to the ground and crouches, sitting on his legs. Derek watches as he holds his hand, palm out, to the chimera, waving his fingers. Against all odds the creature takes one cautious step forward, glancing up at Derek. Its goat head bleats and the snake tail hisses; it must know Derek’s supernatural, if not a werewolf.

“You’re scaring him,” Stiles chides from his circle. “Stop that.”

The chimera continues toward Stiles, stepping so lightly it barely makes a sound. It makes sense now why they haven’t heard it running even when they could see it. Something about the size of its paws offsetting the amount of force placed in each step, he thinks; Lydia tried to explain it but most of the explanation went over his head. While her strengths have always laid in math and physics, Derek’s lie in classical history, which is why he knows _exactly_ how dangerous this creature can be.

He watches it approach the barrier, growling at it before coughing a flame towards the rope. It repels and scorches some nearby leaves and the chimera drops its shoulders, spitting another fireball. After it repeats this several times, Stiles starts laughing, bending over his knees and holding his stomach.

“It’s playing,” he chokes as the chimera pounces as one of its flames bounces off the barrier and singes a gathering of saplings. “Holy shit, Derek.”

“Don’t let the barrier down, I’ll call Scott.” Derek pulls his phone from the pocket of his jacket, unlocking the screen to place the call. “Scott?We found the chimera. Stiles is-”

Fuck.

“Stiles what?”

Stiles is breaking the barrier and offering his palm again. The chimera’s snake tail flicks around before nudging the goat as the lion sniffs Stiles' hand just like every domestic house cat Derek has ever met does. He starts to move towards Stiles but the teen throws his other hand up.

“Stay there.”

Over the phone, Scott is growing concerned. “Derek! Stiles what?”

“He’s _petting_ it.”

Sure enough the chimera steps over the rope, sits down on its hind legs, and lets Stiles scratch its chin. A noise rumbles from the lion’s throat and the goat croaks in an effort to be acknowledged as well. Derek watches as the kid runs his finger down the snake’s back, looking up at him with a grin.

“What?”

“Stiles, he’s, just-. Just get here, you’ll see. We’re about a mile south of the bridge and the creek.”

“Okay. We’ll grab Kira and be there soon.”

“Alright.” Derek hangs up and slides the phone back into his jacket. The chimera is circling Stiles now, rubbing its face along the back of his hoodie. “Scott’s on his way.”

“Cool.”

Without wanting to scare the chimera, Derek remains standing until the rest of the pack arrives. It’s endearing on a level that should be illegal, what he’s witnessing. By the time Scott, Kira, and Lydia show up, the chimera is in Stiles’ lap, relaxed and content as Stiles cards his fingers through its fur.

In his periphery, Scott starts reprimanding Stiles for being irresponsible because the chimera could literally _set him on fire_ before turning to Derek and scolding him for allowing Stiles to do whatever it is he is doing with the chimera. Derek doesn’t break his gaze as he apologizes because the chimera is _scenting_ Stiles and the teenager is chuckling. The lion chuffs at the goat as it nibbles on the pull-tie of Stiles’ hood.

Stiles, with only the low glow of the moon above and the beam from Lydia’s flashlight, glances up at Derek, grinning so widely it must hurt.

\- - -

The third time, the third time is when _it_ happens. They’re arguing in Stiles’ bedroom because that’s what they do best. Argue and banter and nitpick and annoy the everloving fuck out of one another because they’re both bullheaded and intrepid in their beliefs. It’s an art they mastered months ago, one they’ve been perfecting for over a year since the wolfsbane bullet incident.

It doesn’t feel like an argument though, it never does. It feels like a prelude, a precursor, to what, Derek isn’t sure, but it must be something ineluctable. It feels like a thrum beneath his skin, one he hasn’t felt since he was sixteen.

It’s dangerous.

Stiles has been ranting for the past ten minutes, increasingly working himself into a frenzy of hand gestures and pointing at an array of articles and photos he has pinned to the wall of his bedroom. Derek hasn’t tried to interrupt him in almost half that time in fear Stiles will even further divert away from the topic they had been discussing in the first place. He supposes it’s a good thing the Sheriff’s at work when Stiles starts yelling. Not at Derek in particular, but the situation.

“I don’t _trust him_ , why don’t any of you get that? I don’t care if he’s Scott’s boss, he’s not our emissary.”

Derek catches the tail end of the sentence, blinking slowly when Stiles turns towards him. He blames the kid’s inherent gesturing for being so captivating.

“What?” Stiles demands. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

There’s a stillness in the air before Derek steps forward, places his hands on Stiles’ cheeks, and kisses him. Stiles hands are still in the air, though they’re no longer clenched in fists. He makes a noise of surprise, pupils dilating.

Derek releases him when he realizes what he’s done, how he’s crossed a line. He drops his hands, backs up and angles his body towards the window. Stiles is staring at him with wide eyes, lips parted.

“I’m sorry, shit, I didn’t mean to do that. Stiles, I’m-”

Stiles rushes at him before he can get his apology out, hands going around his neck and lips crashing against Derek’s. Their noses collide in a way that is anything but comfortable but Stiles tilts his head so he can kiss Derek hard, hands shaking as they skirt along the edges of his beard. Stiles presses his full weight against Derek’s chest and that’s all the go ahead he needs before grabbing at Stiles through his jacket.

The thrum is more like a hum now, buzzing in Derek’s ear with every kiss. He has no idea how many people Stiles has kissed but he’s as clumsy as he is impatient. Derek nips at his bottom lip and Stiles _moans_. All it takes is one sweep of his tongue and Stiles parts his lips. The kiss becomes even more uncoordinated then and Derek knows that whoever taught Stiles how to do this didn’t have that much experience themselves.

Derek allows Stiles to set the pace, dropping his hands from Stiles’ waist to hips, applying pressure to them as he pulls Stiles even closer. The teen starts snickering into the kiss only to whine when Derek slots his thigh between Stiles’. Whatever Stiles was thinking disappears and his eyes flicker open, flittering back and forth between Derek’s as he pulls away just far enough that their mouths are no longer touching.

“Derek,” he says huskily, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Yeah?”

Stiles searches his eyes for a few more seconds before his gaze drifts down to Derek’s lips. He can feel how swollen they are; Stiles’ eyes dilate as his realizes it as well. The entire room reeks of arousal now, a mixture of both of them. Derek rubs a circle into Stiles’ left hip with his thumb, finger slipping beneath the tight fabric of his shirt.

This time when Stiles kisses him, his hands go for his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders to discard it on the floor. Derek pulls Stiles against him again, grunting as Stiles rocks his hips against Derek’s thigh. He’s hard behind his jeans and keens as his repeats the motion. Derek tugs Stiles’ belt loops in time with each roll of his hips, deepening the kiss as Stiles’ pulse skyrockets. He eases the teen out of his plaid overshirt, dropping it on top of his jacket.

Stiles starts easing him towards the bed then, arms wrapped tightly around Derek’s neck. He licks into his mouth when the back of his knees hit the mattress, again pulling him. Derek doesn’t allow him to sit down, instead pressing their hips flush together. Stiles moans at the friction of his hard-on pressing against Derek’s and he pulls away, both hands now tangled in Derek’s hair.

Derek takes the opportunity to kiss his way down the pale expanse of Stiles’ neck, licking at the cluster of moles on the left hinge of his jaw and pressing teeth against his jugular. Stiles shudders when Derek sucks a bruise into his skin, licking and nosing it afterward. He repeats the process four times more, until a litter of bruises cover Stiles’ neck. In his head, Derek’s wolf chuffs with pride.

Stiles manages to lift Derek’s head away from his neck long enough to kiss him, sliding his tongue along Derek’s with a whimper. His deft fingers scramble to start rucking Derek’s shirt up by the back. Derek pulls away to let Stiles strip his henley clean off, immediately returning to the kiss.

“Hold up,” Stiles says, voice raspy.

Derek acquiesces, watching Stiles peel his own shirt off as well. He has a small patch of hair between his pecs but that’s not what Derek’s focused on. No, it’s the flush that’s spread from his neck down to his chest and how his nipples are pebbled from the room being cold. Derek skims a finger over one of the nubs and grins when Stiles shudders.

“ _Derek_ ,” he whines as Derek pinches the other. 

Stiles bats his hands away only to drag his own down Derek’s chest, nails scraping against the ridges of his abdomen. Derek watches, enthralled at the way Stiles’ pulse increases the closer his fingers get of the band of his boxer briefs, jutting just above his jeans. Stiles bites his bottom lip between his teeth, setting his hands on the button, whiskey eyes fluttering as they meet Derek’s own.

A moment passes and Derek grins before leaning forward, capturing the teen in another kiss. Stiles takes its as a go ahead, undoing the button and zipper before tugging the pockets downwards. Derek guides Stiles' hands to the small of his back, never interrupting the kiss as he kicks his jeans off. The left pant leg gets stuck around his ankle and after shaking it several times, Stiles snorts and stomps down on the denim so Derek can lift his foot free.

He’s still snickering when Derek rids him of his jeans as well, bending down to help Stiles step out of the ridiculously tight pants he is wearing.

“Bed,” he says, sitting down and crawling backwards to lay back against his covers.

Derek follows, settling between his open legs. Stiles is grinning at him, flush ever present and hickeys growing darker as the minutes pass. He leans up to kiss Derek, hands on his forearms. Derek presses him back against the comforter, twining their fingers together above Stiles’ head. The teen chuckles into his mouth, trying to pull his hands away from the restraint. Derek withdraws.

“Stay,” he commands, not realizing until this moment how rough his voice sounds.

It does something to Stiles that has never happened before in that the kid goes silent, nods, and leaks arousal like it’s his profession. Derek would be lying if he didn’t admit how delicious the smell is. 

Derek kisses the corner of his mouth, his jaw next, then his Adam’s apple. He licks at the hollow of Stiles’ right collarbone, then the left, biting the skin stretched taut over the bone to watch his mark bloom. Stiles keens as he licks over his left nipple, grazing it with his teeth before moving to the right one. Only when both are peaked and shiny with saliva does he continue his path south. By then Stiles is writhing and Derek has to hold his hips down with the hand not pining Stiles’ to the pillows.

When he reaches the line of coarse hair stretching from Stiles’ navel to the elastic of his boxers, Derek buries his face against it. Stiles’ scent is so strong his wolf is yipping in delight. Derek mouths his way down the strip, glancing up at Stiles when he reaches the bulge in his underwear. The fabric is already damp with pre-come, scent heady.

“Stiles,” he says, thumbing over a triangle of moles on his left hipbone. “Stiles.”

Stiles opens his eyes then, pupils so dilated Derek can barely see the ring of color around them. His sclera are streaked red, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. He’s beautiful, Derek thinks, shivering as he blinks at Derek with hazy eyes. He looks so young from this angle, hair flattened against his forehead in a way that is reminiscent of that awkward phase during the summer they don’t talk about when it was growing out from the buzzcut.

That’s when the voice starts. It’s sultry, female, degrading as it chuckles _he’s a teenager, Derek. He’s barely older than you were when we-_

“Derek?” Derek blinks, realizing he’s released Stiles’ hands. “What’s wrong?”

 _His father’s the Sheriff, sweetie, did you forget?_ the voice chides and Derek can imagine the simper _she_ would be wearing. _You did, didn’t you? What if he catches you? You’re going to get thrown back in jail, Derek, daddy wouldn’t appreciate his son being defiled by some monst-_

“Derek!”

“You’re seventeen,” he states, sitting up.

Stiles frowns and follows. “Derek.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” 

Derek starts to step off the bed but Stiles places a hand on Derek’s neck. He draws Derek close enough to kiss him softly, all the urgency momentarily gone.

“I don’t care,” Stiles whispers against his lips. “I don’t care that I’m seventeen.”

 _Jailbait’s got a mouth on him_ the voice jests and Derek’s wolf snarls at it.

“You're not taking advantage of me, Derek. You're not her." Stiles offers a somber smile and kisses the corner of Derek’s mouth. "I’m giving you my full consent. Stop doubting whether I want this, okay?”

Sometimes he forgets that Stiles is the only person he’s ever told in explicit detail what happened with Kate, other than Laura. But Laura-

The voice has gone silent and Derek sighs, relieved. Stiles quirks an eyebrow as Derek presses him back against the pillows again. He kisses him almost tentatively, needing the response. Stiles pulls Derek’s full weight down on top of him, hooking a leg around his waist. The fervor returns and the air around them shifts again.

Stiles is breathing hard through his nose as he guides one of Derek’s hands to his boxers. Derek doesn’t need further instructions, slips his fingers beneath the elastic banding. Stiles keens and throws his head back against the pillow as Derek wraps a hand around his cock, gripping it tightly as he twists his wrist. He presses a finger to the slit, spreading the sticky pre-come around to ease the slide. It’s still too dry but Stiles doesn’t seem to care.

The kid is back to squirming, fingers pressed tightly enough against Derek’s shoulders that they would leave bruises if he could retain injuries longer than a few seconds. Stiles’ nails are leaving red crescents though, skin giving under the pressure. If Stiles would open his eyes he’d probably be ridiculously proud of himself.

Derek slides further down Stiles’ body, letting go of his cock to get both hands around his hips. He pulls Stiles’ boxers off, simpering as he stares down at the teen. His cock is red and curved slightly to the right, resting against his stomach as Stiles pants and reaches for Derek. His voice cracks as he whines Derek’s name when Derek licks the underside of his cock, right below the head.

A few smooth sucks, twists of his hand as he mouths at Stiles’ balls, and swallowing Stiles down until the head of his cock hits the back of Derek’s throat, and the teen is shivering uncontrollably.

“ _Derek_ , fuck, stop, you have to stop or I’m going to come,” he pleads, fingers threaded through Derek’s hair trying in vain to direct him elsewhere.

“Isn’t that the point?” Derek asks, nuzzling the thick hair at the base of Stiles’ cock, as though he can permanently absorb the scent by filling his lungs with it.

“No, no, I want you to fuck me. I don’t - _shit, right there_ \- want to come until you’re inside me,” he replies, arching his hips as Derek swirls his tongue around the head.

Derek releases Stiles’ cock with an obscene pop, grazing his fingers over it featherlight as he licks at the mole to the right of Stiles’ navel. There’s a scar there that he’s never seen and he wants to know its source. Just not right now.

“We don’t have to,” he finally replies when Stiles digs a knee into his ribs.

“Yes, _fuck_ , yes we do. I need you to, god, you have no idea. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” Stiles pants, fingers tilting Derek’s mouth away from his navel. “ _Please_.”

Even now, Stiles looks absolutely wrecked, debauched through and through. His eyes are glazed over with lust, lips swollen, neck covered in bruises and hair plastered to his forehead, damp with sweat. He’s making aborted little thrusts with his hips as well, despite saying he doesn’t want to come yet.

Derek grins at him, saying “lube and condoms. Where are they?”

The smiles that spreads across Stiles’ mouth makes Derek’s heart rabbit in his chest. The kid reaches over the edge of his bed, hands searching underneath the frame. He hums in success when he finds what he’s looking for, pushing them at Derek as he rights himself on the bed. He’s smirking as Derek sets the condom to the side and snicks the cap on the lube, slicking his fingers.

“Shit,” he mumbles as Derek circles his hole before pressing the first finger in.

Stiles makes a frantic grab at the sheets with one hand and Derek’s free arm with the other. Derek just watches in awe at how easily his body takes it, hot and tight around his digit. He slips another in after a minute of Stiles adjusting and squirming, lip between his teeth now. He jolts when Derek grazes his prostate, pushing away from the touch.

“No, no no no no no _no_ , don’t stop. God, please, don’t,” he whines, trying to rock hips back onto Derek’s fingers. “It just feels weird with someone else doing it.”

“Hmm,” Derek replies, leaning down to kiss Stiles’ chin. He slides a third finger in and Stiles keens.

Only when he can get the tip of his pinky inside Stiles and the kid is grinding against his fingers does Derek withdraw. Stiles makes a frustrated noise, sitting partially up to support himself on his elbows as Derek sits back on his heels. The confused look disappears as Derek slips his boxer briefs off and Stiles smirks, muttering something prideful. He pulls one of the pillows from the side of the bed he doesn’t sleep on from beneath the comforter, slides it under his hips, and parts his legs.

Derek rips the packet open with his teeth a little too hard because Stiles places his hands against the back of his thighs and pulls them towards his chest. It takes two tries for Derek to get the condom on and Stiles is all muffled laughter. Derek glares and scoots forward, until Stiles’ thighs are on top of his own.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he warns, pressing the head of his cock against the red puckered skin.

“Yeah, yeah, get to-”

Stiles makes a noise like all the wind has been knocked out of him as Derek presses inside, slowly, cautiously, because every sign Derek has gotten says that this is Stiles’ first time. The ring of muscle gives with an added bit of pressure and Derek has to hold himself at the base of his dick so he doesn’t come. 

“Derek,” Stiles whines, skin beneath his fingers red from gripping. 

“You’re so tight.”

“ _Derek_.”

Stiles pulls him for a kiss, letting go of his legs to wrap him arms around Derek’s neck. Derek licks into his mouth, groaning as his Stiles’ ass presses flush against his hips. Stiles clenches his teeth, forehead pressed to Derek’s as Derek palms his erection.

“You need to move,” he manages, hooking his legs around Derek’s waist.

He starts slow, short rocking movements with his hips until Stiles relaxes enough Derek can pull back far enough to actually watch his cock slide into Stiles’ body. It’s overwhelming, the way Stiles feels around him, the way the kid is panting against his mouth, the sweet sounds that come from his lips as Derek thrusts into him just a little harder. Derek grips Stiles’ cock and twists it with saliva and pre-come easing the slide.

He gets lost in letting himself have this, have Stiles, in a way he's always denied.

Stiles’ legs tightening around his waist is the only warning Derek gets before Stiles comes. He bites Derek’s shoulder between his teeth, crying out with it as he hugs his arms around Derek’s neck. The clench of Stiles’ tightening around his cock is almost enough to push him over. Stiles licks at his mark and proceeds to nibble his way up Derek’s neck until he reaches his jugular. He bites down and Derek comes so hard his vision goes splotchy.

In the afterglow Derek can feel Stiles threading his fingers through his hair, pressing chaste kisses to his jaw, gently murmuring his name. The high makes his mind fuzzy but not so much Derek can’t kiss Stiles in return. The kid hums into it.

“Hey there,” he slurs when Derek pulls away to nose at his neck, nuzzling against the marks he left. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome. Can you maybe possibly please get off me then? You’re heavy and we are covered in gross things and I want to shower.”

Derek rolls his eyes but raises his weight off Stiles, slipping from his body. Stiles hisses when Derek rubs the pad of his pointer finger against the puffy rim of his hole, kicking at his knees with his heels when Derek sits back on his feet. He removes the condom and ties it off.

“Shower,” Stiles says, gesturing the hallway, “let’s go.”

They clean up between spurts of soft, languid kisses, squished into the shower meant for one. Stiles throws his comforter into the washing machine in hopes it will get cleaned properly as Derek pulls his jeans back on.

The assumption that Derek is doing anything but spending the night goes out the window when Stiles comes back into the room and slips Derek’s discarded henley on. He sits down on the edge of the mattress with a printout he pulls off the wall and Derek sinks down next to him.

“What are we going to do about Hiccup?” he asks, leaning against Derek as he flips to the next page.

“You named him?”

“Duh. Chimera or not, he needs a name."

"But Hiccup?"

"The little guy can’t control his fire very well, Derek: he set Scott's shirt on fire the other day. And don’t raise your judgmental eyebrows at me mister, I know you get the reference.” Stiles nudges him in the stomach and Derek kisses his temple. “I don’t need to see your face to know the look you just had.”

“Deaton said he can send him somewhere safe.”

“And I told you _I don’t trust_ Deaton. You’ve seen what he does, how he only ever gives us half the information. You know what he let Scott, Allison, and I do. You know he tried to kill me.”

Derek sighs against Stiles’ wet hair. “You weren’t you. He would never intentionally kill _you_.”

“The address he gave us for this place is a fake. I looked into the area it’s supposed to be and all that’s there is woods. I even asked Danny to hack a satellite and guess what he came up with? Nada. If he couldn't find anything, no one can.”

Stiles skims the printout twice over before making a frustrated noise. He tosses the paper on the floor and starts pacing in front of his wall. Derek watches him for what seems like an hour, silent gesturing becoming more and more frantic. Stiles eventually grits his teeth and reaches for where his phone is sitting on the corner of his desk.

“We are not going through with this, I’m calling Scott.”

When Derek hears the first dial tone he can’t stop himself from saying “I’ll drive you.”

Stiles furrows his eyebrows. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll drive you to Montana.”

“Derek, that’s like a sixteen hour drive one way.”

“That you can’t make on your own. Scott can’t miss work, Kira isn't going to offer, and Lydia would refuse. It’s fine.”

Stiles doesn’t say another word. He ends the call to Scott, sets his phone back down, and walks towards his bed, flicking the lights off on the way. He tilts Derek’s chin up before straddling his lap, placing both hands on either of his cheeks, and glances between his eyes.

It doesn't feel dangerous, not when the teen kisses him until the only thing he can taste is Stiles on his tongue. It feels calming, relieving, like slotting the last piece of a puzzle into place. It makes the thrum buzz pleasantly and Derek drifts off as he mentally connects the moles on Stiles' shoulder into abstract shapes.

\- - -

With a little persuasion from Scott, Deaton hands over coordinates for the location of the farm with a sigh. Stiles verifies it on his tablet, demanding to know why the coordinates take him right back to the woods he researched the first time. The veterinarian reaches for the jar of mountain ash he keeps on the top shelf above the cabinet, sets it down on the exam table, and walks away.

Turns out mountain ash can do more than just keep the supernatural from breaking a barrier.

They wait until Stiles’ spring break to drive Hiccup to Montana. The Sheriff stares at Derek a little oddly as he explains the situation but gives him permission to keep Stiles out long enough that they’ll require a hotel room at some point. The man isn’t under the illusion that his son and Derek are just friends anymore, hasn’t been since the morning after Stiles lost his virginity. There weren’t exactly many ways to explain a sweatpants clad, barefoot Derek Hale in his kitchen at seven in the morning as his son danced around in boxers and a shirt that clearly wasn’t his.

All he asked is that Derek not do anything with or to Stiles that warranted being arrested. Derek flushed red so quickly he was sure his face caught fire. Stiles though, he laughed so hard he flung waffle batter all over his father, Derek, and the wall.

They don’t stop on the drive up, despite Stiles’ pleas to at least consider it. This while the chimera twists and turns in his lap, pressing his large paws against the window as the goat bleats. Derek warns him against letting the creature play, citing the window tinting as not being opaque enough that people can’t see inside. Stiles waves a hand at him and says he’ll buy a baby shade at the next rest stop if it makes Derek feels better.

Hiccup seems to enjoy the ride, curling up in Stiles’ lap while Derek drives, and pushing his way into Stiles’ arms while the teen is driving. Stiles eventually has to scold the chimera, poking him on each of his faces, and deposits him in Derek’s lap. The chimera growls at him until Derek reclines the seat as far back as it will go. He falls asleep somewhere in the middle of Nevada, a hand stroking Hiccup’s goat neck, the lion tucked underneath his chin, and the snake coiled around his wrist.

They find a rundown little motel twenty minutes away from the farm Hiccup is going to and only out of exhaustion, does Derek finally give in. The room itself isn’t half bad and they manage to get Hiccup inside without anyone seeing him, granted it is three in the morning. The chimera tears one of the beds apart as Derek strips the other down to just the sheets.

When Stiles comes out of the bathroom, Derek goes in, wiping the condensation away from the mirror to look at the scratches Hiccup left on his shoulder while they were napping. They’re healing, albeit it slowly, but healing. He wonders if they would have healed quicker if he was still an alpha.

He showers and changes, throwing his towel on top of Stiles’. Out in the room, Hiccup has built himself a nest on one bed and Stiles has sprawled out in the other. The chimera makes an odd combination of purring and bleating noises as Derek walks by but doesn’t uncurl from his bedding. Derek smiles and slumps down onto the couch, pulling the itchy blanket over him.

“What are you doing?” Stiles mumbles from the bed. “Get over here.”

“I told your father-"

“I’m not going to feel you up, Der. I’m exhausted and already sad, so get over here.”

Derek balls the blanket up and stands, laying down next to Stiles. The teen doesn’t lift his head, just throws the sheet open. He waits for Derek to get comfortable, rearranges the sheet, and mumbles a goodnight. Derek smiles at the back of his head and drifts off to the soft sounds of the chimera and Stiles yawning.

In the morning he wakes up with his arms full of Stiles. He’s sprawled across Derek’s chest, fingers curled in his shirt and nose pressed to his collarbone. Hiccup’s still asleep too, the bed even more of a mess now. Their phones start going off soon after and they straighten the room best they can before sneaking the chimera back into FJ Cruiser. Stiles makes a comment about Derek paying for the room with cash, the amount of time they spent there, and the general disarray of the bed Hiccup slept in.

Derek doesn’t know what to expect of the farm Deaton has sent them to, but the place doesn’t look much different than the ranch his parents once owned in Canada. Stiles has to get out of the car to break a line of mountain ash at the base the low wooden fence, per the owner’s instructions, only to close it once the SUV is past the boundary. _Precautions_ , as Deaton put it, to test anyone coming into their property.

The owners aren’t what Derek expected either. They’re two woman, both easily Derek’s age, and seemingly human. One of them offers to show them around the farm while the other coos over Hiccup. The chimera hides behind Stiles’ legs, baring his tiny fangs. Derek is about to accept the offer but Stiles holds out his hand.

“It’s okay, Derek, I trust them.” Stiles turns to him, smiling somberly, before looking down at Hiccup. “He’ll be okay. You’ll keep him until he’s an adult, right?”

“Yep. He’ll have a buddy too,” the brunette says with a grin, crouching down on the ground. “Come here, little guy. Guy?”

“Hiccup,” Derek says, reaching down to smooth the hair on Hiccup’s goat head.

“Cool name,” the other woman says, eyes scanning over the proximity between he, Stiles, and the chimera. “We’ll give you a moment. When you’re ready just call for one of us. We want your phone numbers, too, before you leave.”

Derek nods, placing a hand on Stiles’ lower back. The teenager scoops Hiccup up in his arms, scratching his lion chin first. He rubs the short nubs of horns on the goat head, then moves onto the snake, scratching its chin as well. The snake flicks its tongue against Stiles' nose and twines itself through his fingers. 

Stiles buries his face in Hiccup’s fur before handing him to Derek. The chimera paws at his chin but doesn’t scratch him, just tilts his head to the left. The goat bumps its way underneath his hand and the snake does the same. Derek pets each of them before approaching the porch of the house, calling out for one of the women. The brunette appears with her phone in her hands and another chimera at her ankles.

Hiccup barely makes it to the ground before the other creature notices.

“So,” she starts, “we’ll take your numbers now. If you need to reach us, best bet is to try our landline; for the most part, cell reception sucks out here. We can give you our cellphone numbers, just don’t expect us to answer every time.”

“That’s fine.” Stiles steps forward to enter both his and Derek’s cellphone numbers in the phone, glancing down at Hiccup and his new friend as they circle one another. “Be a good little buddy, Hiccup. Scott and I will miss you lots.”

“Me too,” Derek mumbles, frowning at the way Stiles’ smile starts to break.

“Derek, too.” The teen turns back to the woman, holding a hand out. “Thank you for taking him.”

She grins, shakes his hand, and pulls two business cards from the back pocket of her jeans. “No problem. Alan said you restored power to an old nemeton, yeah? You all get any more creatures you can’t handle, send them our way. It’s been a while since we’ve had any dragons.”

Stiles’ jaw drops and Derek takes that as his chance to pull the teenager away before the inquisition can start.

“Thanks again,” he says, tugging Stiles in the direction of the SUV after taking the proffered business cards. “Let’s go, we have a long drive home.”

“Yeah.”

Stiles says goodbye to the chimera once more before turning to the fence. He breaks the line of ash so Derek can drive through, closing it again as he swings the gate back in place. He doesn’t say a word as he climbs into the SUV, just reaches over the center console to twine his fingers with Derek’s.

They’re an hour from the Nevada border when Stiles finally speaks. Sure, there was minimal dialogue when they stopped for lunch, but the kid has been silent otherwise.

“Derek?” he asks, squeezing Derek’s fingers between his own.

“Hmm?”

“You need to move out of the loft.”

Derek turns to him as much he can without looking entirely away from the road and regrets it immediately. Stiles’ eyebrows are drawn together and he’s grimacing. He chews his lip before looking up, whiskey eyes finding Derek’s.

“Why do I need to move out of the loft?”

Stiles sighs and leans back against the headrest. “You hate it there.”

“No I don’t,” Derek retorts, shifting into the left lane to pass a slew of very slow cars.

“I don’t need to be a werewolf to know you’re lying. You’re uncomfortable being there, I’ve seen you. I know you can’t look at the floor without seeing Boyd. I know you can’t go upstairs without catching Isaac’s scent. I know you-; it doesn’t matter. You’re miserable. There are only two reasons for why you’re still living there: a, it’s the last tie you have to your betas; or b, you’re punishing yourself.”

“Stiles,” he warns, grip tightening around the wheel.

“It’s the second reason, right?”

It is. _It is_ , but he won’t admit it. Stiles must realize that because he pulls his hand out of Derek’s.

“Pull the car over.”

Derek does, checking the rearview mirror as he slows down. It’s still early enough in the afternoon that there isn’t much traffic, not that an area this remote probably produces much. He presses the red triangle button for the hazards and slots the gear stick into park.

“Move your seat back,” Stiles requests, motioning his hands toward the backseat.

“Stiles-”

“I’m not going to do anything to you, just move your seat back.”

With a sigh, Derek drops his hand from the wheel and slides the seat back as far as it can go. An eighteen wheeler passes their vehicle, catching his attention as it rumbles the FJ Cruiser into shaking. He’s drawn back to what’s happening inside the SUV as Stiles crawls over the cup holder, swings his legs over Derek’s thighs, and settles his weight.

“Stiles?”

“Just, let me do this, okay?”

“What is this? We’re-”

But Stiles kisses him, halting all his protests. He presses his hands against Derek’s face as gently as he can, cradling it as he tilts his chin up to deepen the kiss. It doesn’t progress far but Derek whimpers into it none the less, arms wrapping around Stiles’ lower back to keep him in place. Stiles kisses him until he relaxes, drawing away only to skim his lips up Derek’s temple. He places one more kiss on his nose before resting their foreheads together.

“Derek, I need you to listen to me without interrupting or arguing, okay? Just one minute, that’s all I ask.”

“Okay.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, dragging his fingers along the edges of Derek’s beard.

“They weren’t your fault. Boyd was not your fault. Erica was not your fault. Your family, not a single one of them, was your fault. Not what happened to Peter, not Laura, not Cora.” He hesitates for a moment, biting his lip. “Scott being bitten, Lydia using you to bring Peter back, what happened to Jackson.”

Derek stares at him, overwhelmed by the honesty he is giving off. He can hear his own pulse in his ears, can feel it in his stomach. His body wants to expel the feeling, curdling his lunch and burning his throat as the saliva goes hot. Stiles though, he’s frowning and still cradling Derek’s face in his hands.

“You don’t believe me. I know you don’t. But you’re a werewolf, you can hear when I lie, you can feel the jump in my pulse.” Stiles reaches for Derek’s right hand, bringing it to his chest. He splays Derek’s fingers so they cover his heart, hidden beneath layers of muscle and skin dotted with moles, beneath a worn flannel shirt that has holes in the elbows. “You tell me if I’m lying. Boyd was not your fault. Erica was not your fault. Your family was not your fault. The alpha douches and Kali used you to murder Boyd. Kali murdered Erica. The she-demon Kate fucking Argent murdered your family. Not _you_ , _never you_.”

Stiles curls his left hand over Derek’s, pressing it hard against his chest. He places his right hand around Derek’s neck, thumbing over the kanji scar that never faded. Stiles still has his too, though it’s slightly raised while Derek’s, and Scott’s for that matter, are smooth.

“Derek?”

“Huh?”

“I asked if you could hear a blip.”

“No,” he admits, averting his eyes away from Stiles’. “You really believe that.”

“Of course, it’s the truth. You’ve done some shitty things, Derek, horrible shitty things, but that doesn’t make you responsible for the people you love dying. I’m going to keep telling you this until you believe me. I don’t care what anyone says, I need you to know it. I need you to trust me, okay?”

“I do, but Stiles-” he starts only to be interrupted as the teenager shakes his head.

“No buts. You need to move out of the loft because you’re staying there to punish yourself. We all know it, Derek. But you need to want to move out first, otherwise you’re still holding onto all that guilt.”

Derek is shaking now, despite being warm and anchored in Stiles’ grip. He opens his mouth only to close it, tucking his face against Stiles’ neck, hugging him close. Stiles just laughs and hugs him back.

“Why are you doing this?” Derek mumbles against the teen’s collarbone.

“What exactly?”

“This, all of this. You didn’t have to say any of that, you didn’t have to kiss me. You didn’t have to sleep with me.”

Stiles sighs and sits back to rest his weight against the wheel without making it honk.

“Why did you drive me to Montana to deliver a creature that in its essence is a mythological abomination?”

“Because you didn’t trust Deaton.”

“And?”

“I didn’t want to see you sad."

"And?"

"I never want to see you sad."

"And why is that?"

"Because I-” he pauses, realizing where the sentence is headed. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“You-”

“Yep.” Stiles grins crookedly, pulse kicking up as he scratches his chin. “Took me a while to realize why too. That’s okay though. I’m not in a rush to talk about it if you aren’t.”

“I didn’t, I just, _Stiles_.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Stiles says, leaning forward to kiss him lightly. “We’ll get there, we have time. But right now we should get back to driving because I’ve seen the same state patrol cruiser pass us twice already. We can figure this out later.”

Derek’s eyes flitter across Stiles’ face, from his pink lips to his upturned nose to his ridiculous whiskey eyes. They’re flecked with gold and Derek feels slighted for never having noticed before. Stiles’ cheeks flush a soft pink and he blinks.

“Derek?”

Derek leans forward, one hand held against the back of the kid’s neck, the other pressed to his lower back to keep it from setting off the horn. He kisses Stiles until he starts to squirm, fingers tangled in Derek’s tresses and tongue sweeping into his mouth. He moans, forcing breaths through his nose, when Derek bites his bottom lip between his teeth.

“We’re gonna get caught,” he chides, reluctantly pushing away.

Derek kisses him once more, quick and dirty, before he allows Stiles to slink back into the passenger seat. Just as he flicks off the hazards and resumes driving south, a state patrol vehicle plows by them. Stiles snorts. Derek offers him his hand after he sets the cruise control and the vehicle returns to comfortable silence.

They’re an hour away from the California border when Stiles speaks again.

“We’re going to be okay, Derek,” he says, staring out the window at the desert around them. “You and me. It won’t happen today, or next week, maybe not even next year. But we’re going to be okay.”

“How do you know?”

Stiles shrugs and squeezes Derek’s fingers tightly. “You told me once that the world always restores the balance. Hiccup was the first step of setting things right.”

The kid is grinning with his eyes closed and forehead pressed against the window when Derek turns towards him. He’s stopped counting how many times he’s lost himself in watching Stiles, knows this won’t be the last time, hopes they have thousands ahead of them. This occurrence is no more or less special than the one that happened this morning as Stiles woke up in his arms or the one that happened two days ago when he found Stiles and Hiccup curled up in his bed. Still, it makes his pulse quicken and his cheeks warm.

Derek returns his focus to the empty highway ahead of them, returning the squeeze gently.

“We’ll visit him during the summer, if you want.”

“Just us?”

“Up to you.”

Stiles leans away from the window, smiling at Derek with the same grin he had the night they found Hiccup in the woods.

Yeah, they’ll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> That was the slowest built, most detailed sex I've ever written and I'm pretty proud of it if I do say so myself.
> 
> The title (that really doesn't have much to do with this fic) is from the song _Where I'm Going_ by Sir Sly. When I originally thought of writing this, it was because this song sounded like something TW would put in the show if Derek and Stiles were to ever make out. They'd strip down to their jeans, kissing the entire time, never fully breaking apart until they were in the middle of Stiles' bed, Stiles on his back and Derek hovering above him. And there would be this moment of hesitation where they just kind of look into each other's eyes before they're kissing again, and the camera would pan out to Stiles' window as Derek rolls his hips down and Stiles keens.
> 
> As always, I'm on [tumblr.](http://stayingputwouldbeablunder.tumblr.com)


End file.
